


The One After Marius Says The Wrong Name

by Rinielle



Series: L.E.S A.M.I.S [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friends AU, M/M, Please don't hurt me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinielle/pseuds/Rinielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Pray, say that again,” needled Grantaire, sounding amused and teasing, when inside his heart was hammering a fierce rhythm against his ribcage. Enjolras laughed again and Grantaire was definitely, definitely going to be performing a test of the Parisian water, because something was definitely very wrong.</p>
<p>“I said, you’re right,” he replied turning with a smile to face him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One After Marius Says The Wrong Name

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I have Xover headcanons, and things like this happen.

_“I Marius, take thee Cosette,”_

_His face fell into his open hands and around him everyone gasped loudly._

“Do you um… do you think she noticed?” stuttered Marius, just under an hour later when Grantaire met him at the door of Emilie’s parents house, where the reception was being held. Emilie had stormed past several seconds earlier, and Grantaire had half dived out of her way, the look on her face had been furious. He reached out a hand and clapped Marius on the shoulder, “You know,” he said, “I think she might have.”

Marius deflated, though he couldn’t seriously have been so much in denial as to believe saying the wrong name at the altar just went entirely unnoticed by his bride, or indeed by the fifty or sixty other people in the room. “Right,” he said, “I’d better… talk to her,”  
“Might be a plan,” Honestly Grantaire didn’t think he had much hope of doing that, he’d be extremely lucky if his wife so much as looked at him before uttering the word divorce. He winced; it would be sort of tragic for Marius if it weren’t entirely his own damn fault. The wedding had been perfect, Emilie’s childhood church had been dressed to perfection thanks to the combined talents of the Amis. Enjolras had bullied the workers into taking a day off from demolishing the place entirely, Bahorel had cleared the rubble away, Joly along with Bossuet had swept and cleaned the area to within an inch of its life, Feuilly had worked tirelessly on decorations; and Jehan had dressed up some of the more dilapidated parts of the church with flowers. Grantaire had been rather proud of the mural he’d painted on the still mostly-in-tact back wall, Courfeyrac had bounced from task to task half hindrance, half help, and Combeferre had spent the entire day on the phone trying to communicate that there wasn’t a change of plans actually and would everyone involved please get their asses down here as soon as possible, thank you very much. Even Eponine had ‘helped’, swamped as she claimed to be with three little brothers and a petulant teenage sister to look after back in New York, she had cheerfully barked orders down the phone at everyone. In the end, the place probably looked better like this than it had originally, and Emilie had been stunned and delighted, kissing each boy on the cheek in gratitude and causing more than one to blush.

Eponine had called earlier with a dire warning that Cosette was going to arrive and confess her love to Marius, but Cosette had yet to appear as the wedding march was played, and everything had been going to plan.

In the end Cosette couldn’t really be blamed at all. She had after all managed to sneak herself in without the bride or groom or most of the guests noticing, and was about to settle herself into a seat right at the back. Grantaire only noticed because he had heard someone sniffling and turned to see if Joly had started sobbing yet. They might yet have gotten away with it, but at that precise moment Bossuet’s dust allergies had gotten the best of him, and he’d let out an almighty sneeze, causing everyone to jump and twist to look at him. Most eyes found him looking particularly embarrassed and apologetic, Marius’ had found Cosette, and it was all downhill from there really.

Grantaire hoped in several years they’d all look back on it and laugh. Right now, looking back on it, he really needed a drink.

* * *

 

Half an hour later Marius was back by his side where he had situated himself at the bar, Courfeyrac in tow, both seemingly at a loss.  
“She’s locked herself in the bathroom,” said Courfeyrac wearily, “And damn it, if those doors aren’t hard to get into from the outside,” Grantaire thought that was sort of the point of lockable doors. Marius sighed, looking thoroughly defeated.

“I’ve apologised a hundred times, she won’t even talk to me,” he said, and there was a distinct wounded puppy aura that came with Marius when he was sad, and it was rather unfair because Emilie really was the one in the right, but Grantaire just couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy.

“She did throw something heavy at the door at one point though,” added Courfeyrac helpfully.

“Did you say she was in the bathroom?” All three men jumped at hearing Cosette’s voice behind them, Marius in particular nearly fell over, and then took to looking at his shoes. Courfeyrac therefore took the reins. 

“Yeah, as soon as she got here, why?” Cosette looked sheepish for a moment, bit her lip and twiddled her thumbs.

“It’s just… well, the day I was supposed to marry Theo, well…” she paused, glancing at Marius for half a second before continuing, “Well, I locked myself in the bathroom so I could jimmy open the window to get the hell out of there,”

The reaction was immediate, from the moment the word window had left her lips all three men were off at a run towards the women’s bathroom. Grantaire reached it first and started banging on the door, “Emilie?” he called, “Emilie it’s Grantaire…” a puffing groom and best man stopped beside him and Marius looked as though he were about to speak, but Grantaire held up a hand to keep him silent, “I swear Marius isn’t here, will you talk to me?” he said loudly through the door, “Just… let me know if you’re okay?” He pressed his ear against the door, but he couldn’t hear anything to indicate there was someone in there. He backed away, sending a worried look to Marius who seemed to be hyperventilating, at that moment there was a bang, followed by the sound of footsteps, from inside the bathroom, and relief spread across all of their faces. Marius rushed forward towards the door, “Emilie? Are you…”

The lock clicked and the door opened, and he came face to face with Cosette. The window at the back of the room was wide open, and the only trace of the bride was the white wedding gown strewn across the floor. Cosette stared out at them looking decidedly sorry and guilty.

“Well, look at that,” observed Courfeyrac, patting Marius on the back, “Wrong name again,”

* * *

 

They ended up back at the hotel. Or most of them did, Marius had managed to snag Joly and Bossuet on their way to their taxi and convinced them to go around the city to some places he knew Emilie loved.

“He’s really reaching,” Courfeyrac had said, from where he was situated between Grantaire and Enjolras in their own taxi, “If I were her I’d go somewhere he’d think I never would”.

“Shouldn’t you be with him?” Combeferre had asked from the front, turning in his seat to raise an eyebrow at him, “You are the best man,” but Courfeyrac had simply shrugged and said he’d promised to look for Emilie back at the hotel. Now Grantaire eyed him from across the room, where he was in deep conversation with one of the bridesmaids, and something told him he wasn’t asking for Emilie’s location.

Someone sat down next to him with a sigh, and he looked around to find Enjolras leaning his arms across the bar and staring ahead of himself with a glare.

“Cheer up,” said Grantaire, tipping back the beer he’d been nursing for the last ten minutes and taking a sip, “Don’t look so glum, it’s not your wife on the run,” Enjolras spared two seconds to send him a withering sort of look before returning to glaring at the back of the bar as if it had personally offended him. Grantaire sighed and placed the bottle down; for once he wasn’t making a great deal of progress with it anyway.

“What’s up?” he asked softly, and his concern seemed to take Enjolras by surprise, at least he stopped glaring at the wall and turned to look curiously at Grantaire instead, as if trying to ascertain whether he was seriously asking or playing some joke on him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Grantaire offered, and something that looked a little like shame passed across Enjolras’ features and he turned to look at his own hands; then quite suddenly he huffed loudly.

“You know, since leaving the church, three guys have called me a slut,”

If there was a sentence guaranteed to cause Grantaire to near fall off his chair in surprise, that was definitely it, “What?” he spluttered, feeling a surge of anger and the sudden desire to hunt down those idiots for daring to say something like that to Enjolras. Not only because it was a crappy thing to do, but because it was ridiculous, nobody here even knew Enjolras, and even if they did it would still be ridiculous.

“They’re all rather drunk I think,” he continued, “They thought I was Cosette,”

And well, that at least made some strange amount of sense; they were probably Emilie’s family, though Grantaire still felt angry at them for Cosette’s sake. Still they must have been pretty hammered to mistake Enjolras for her. _He has some feminine features I suppose_ , he thought glancing at the man next to him, _but they’re not really very alike._ For starters Cosette was not wearing a particularly well fitting suit. He didn’t say any of this however; he grinned and poked at Enjolras’ hair instead.

“Well you do have the same curls,” he said with a laugh, causing Enjolras to roll his eyes at him.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s disgusting,” he replied with a hint of the fervour he usually kept for his speeches, “It’s not her fault Marius said her name up there. Yet she’s getting the blame, as per the misogynistic social order. I need to get in contact with Marianne when we get back to New York, I haven’t been as active in campaigning for women’s rights recently. It’s no wonder Cosette’s disappeared too if that’s what she’s had to put up with.” Grantaire knew exactly why Cosette had done a vanishing act, and it wasn’t to do with name-calling. He’d overheard Marius telling her very loudly in the front garden of the house – as though Emilie might be lurking behind a bush – that saying her name had meant nothing, whatsoever, they were just friends, it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t IT DIDN’T! On arriving back at the hotel Cosette had booked herself into a room in the hotel and hadn’t been seen since. Combeferre, being the gentleman, had gone up to see if she was okay about ten minutes ago, but returned having been told – very politely, in a way that only Cosette can achieve – to fuck off and leave her alone. Really, he thought to himself, if Cosette had heard what Emilie’s family were saying about her, they’d probably come off worst. Still he was rather glad she’d spared herself from it anyway.

“Well, you know, look on the bright side,” Enjolras raised a brow at him, looking sceptical, “At least you got mistaken for a beautiful young woman. Some old bloke just told me I should be ashamed of raising a son like Marius,”

“I should have known you wouldn’t take this seriously,” Enjolras snapped.

“I’m perfectly serious, I think he was Emilie’s uncle,” he returned, still grinning from ear to ear, “Though he really _was_ very drunk. I’m starting to think the French can’t hold their liquor,”

“That is not what I meant,” and he made a move as if to stand up and move off; perhaps Grantaire was losing his own ability to hold his alcohol as well, because he reached out to grip his jacket to stop him from leaving.

“Okay okay, I get it, those men are assholes and it’s indicative of a much wider social problem concerning making women out to be the bad guys because actual guys can’t keep their eyes in their head, victim blaming is a thing that exists, sit down and relax would you, you can’t do anything about it right this second,” he paused and then added, “Unless you want to hunt them down and beat them up, in which case let me finish this drink, I’ll join you,”

Enjolras paused for a moment before settling back into his seat, “I don’t think Marius would much like coming back to find you and me brawling with his wife’s relatives,”

“Honestly, I think you and your righteous crusade for equality and justice is the least of Marius’ worries right now,”

Enjolras laughed at that, and it took Grantaire so much by surprise that he almost forgot to smile himself. It was a rare occasion that he and Enjolras could have a civil conversation that lasted more than two minutes, even rarer that he could make Enjolras laugh. He tucked the moment away in his mind, committing the gentle smile on his face, and the way his eyes creased slightly at the side, to memory so he might put it all on paper later.

“I always sort of thought he was in love with Cosette you know,” Enjolras said after a moment, and Grantaire took his turn to laugh then.

“What tipped you to that?” He said, “The endless lingering looks? The way he’d gush about her when she wasn’t in the room? The lovelorn sighs and the way he followed her around like a puppy, always agreeing with her?”

Enjolras looked thoughtful, “It was quite obvious when you put it like that,”

“You think?”

“Why did he never ask her out then?”

Grantaire stared at him, thinking this had to be the most surreal experience of his life. Not only was Enjolras actually chatting to him, he was chatting about their friend’s love lives. He never talked about such trivial things. Was it Paris? Was there something in the water or the air or something?

“I don’t know,” He said carefully, though sitting here, talking to Enjolras, watching him smile and laugh reminded him that he knew very well, “Perhaps he was worried he’d lose her completely if he told her,” and Enjolras nodded slowly.

“Do you think that’s why he rushed forward with this wedding?”

And that was particularly astute for him, he was usually pretty useless when it came to the actions of those in love.  Grantaire nodded and said “Probably.”

“Not really a great reason to get married,”

Grantaire shook his head, “I think he loves Emilie,” he said, “But he’s been hung up on Cosette so long and he didn’t think he had a chance, when he met Emilie it was like here was an opportunity to finally get over her, and I think he just took it a bit too fast,”

“Do you think Cosette would have rejected him if he had asked?”

“No way in hell,” Grantaire replied, taking another sip from his beer, “She’s been as hung up on him as he was on her, she’s just better at hiding it,” Enjolras looked shocked at that, staring wide eyed at him.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked, and it’s just one more in the line of bizarre events for the day, because Enjolras back in New York would not have been asking Grantaire why he wasn’t assisting in furthering two of their groups distraction with each other. He spent half his time these days reminding them all there were more important things than their own little lives; one particularly memorable meeting, in which Marius had been lamenting single life quietly with Jehan in a corner Enjolras had shouted something to the effect of ‘Marius nobody cares about your lonely soul, now would you please pay attention!’

“Didn’t think you cared about our friends’ relationships,” replied Grantaire with a sly smile, “Perhaps I was too busy, focussed on changing the world to point out the bloody obvious to two grown adults who should be able to sort their own lives out,”

Enjolras coloured slightly at that, and even seemed a little ashamed of himself, “It’s not that I don’t care,” he said slightly flustered, and Grantaire knew that, because more than once, in quieter moments, he had caught him smiling at Eponine and Combeferre, or placing a consoling hand on Jehan’s shoulder each time he suffered a heartbreak, even rolling his eyes good naturedly at Courfeyrac’s endless flirting. He knew that just because Enjolras never gossiped or outwardly encouraged, it didn’t mean he didn’t care; though he would much prefer them to keep it out of meetings. Still he was rather enjoying the effect the conversation was having on Enjolras; a blush looked good on him.

“You’re right though,” Enjolras added softly, after a moment, and that was perhaps the strangest thing he’d said since he sat down; perhaps the first time he’d ever said those words to Grantaire at all.

“Pray, say that again,” needled Grantaire, sounding amused and teasing, when inside his heart was hammering a fierce rhythm against his ribcage. Enjolras laughed again and Grantaire was definitely, definitely going to be performing a test of the Parisian water, because something was definitely very wrong.

“I said, you’re right,” he replied turning with a smile to face him, “It’s not your job to sort them out.”

“I am reeling!” exclaimed Grantaire, “My mighty, fearless leader permits me to be correct!” and he jokingly swooned onto the bar as Enjolras muttered ‘shut up’ and nudged against his shoulder. A few seconds passed in silence, and for once it was not angry or awkward; Enjolras’ arm was still just barely brushing against his shoulder, and Grantaire barely dared move for fear of breaking whatever spell had been put upon them.

“Do you think…” Enjolras started quietly, looking thoughtful, “Do you think it would have been better? If one of them had just, got up the courage to ask?”

Grantaire peered up at him, from where he was still sprawled across the bar, but Enjolras seemed to be looking determinedly at the back wall again.  
“Do you think things would have worked out I mean?” he added, and Grantaire shrugged as best he could from his position.

“You never know I guess, I think if anyone could have made it work, I’d have put money on them,” he replied, “But you can’t know until you try, and neither of them did so…” and he shrugged again and they lapsed back into silence, Grantaire watching him out of the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth several times as if to speak again, but seemed to think better of it, and several minutes later he leant back and hopped off his stool. “It’s late,” he said, though really it wasn’t all that late, “I’m going to turn in,” he finished and before Grantaire could so much as say goodnight he was striding off towards the bar doors. Grantaire watched him go, curious as to his strange behaviour and unable to come up with a reason for it.

A few minutes later he saw Marius, flanked by Bossuet and Joly, walk past the door looking lost. Joly patted him on the shoulder and said something quietly in his ear but he simply shook his head. Then they were out of sight again, and Grantaire sighed loudly, grabbing his beer and downing the rest in one go. He considered, for a moment, buying another, but he knew what he could get like once he started, and frankly he didn’t need to give Marius another person to worry about right now. So instead he placed the bottle gently back on the counter and raised himself out of his seat. There was nothing he could do right now, so he decided to follow in Enjolras’ footsteps and get an early night and headed off towards the room he was sharing with Courfeyrac. Hoping he could at least get to sleep before Courfeyrac finally found someone willing to sleep with him, and would therefore have a valid excuse for not being turned out of the room.

* * *

 

He was halfway through changing for bed when someone knocked on the door, and he managed to get his legs tangled in his pyjama’s and nearly fell flat on his face in the bid to both pull them up and reach the door. He hit the door itself and was able to regain his balance and right his state of dress before pulling it open. Outside he found a surprised looking Enjolras.

“Hey,” he said, feeling equally surprised.

“I uh,” Enjolras swallowed and cleared his throat, “Sorry I was looking for Courfeyrac. I uh, thought you’d still be at the bar,” and that probably shouldn’t have hurt, after all if anyone asked Grantaire where he’d put a bet on himself being at – he glanced at the clock on the wall – nine fifteen (really?) yeah he would definitely have placed a bet on him still being in the bar. To be fair to Enjolras that had been where he had left him not twenty minutes previously; regardless the familiar sting that came with Enjolras’ disapproval of his habits was present.

“Right,” he replied, “Well, Courfeyrac’s the one still in the bar I think, last time I saw him he was chatting up a redheaded bridesmaid, but uh, no doubt he’ll give up eventually, if you wanted to wait,”

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire moved out of the doorway to let him through.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He looked dishevelled, still in most of his outfit, though he had lost the jacket at some point, and his tie was hanging around his shoulders, two buttons at the top of a half untucked shirt had been undone, and his hair was sticking up slightly at the back as if he’d been lying on it. It was a good look; but then most things were. He shook his head.

“You’re not still caught up over what those idiots said to you are you,” asked Grantaire, moving first of all to sit down on the bed, but thinking better of it and walking instead to the safety of an armchair, sinking down into it, “Because I know you’ll be just itching to send an email or make a call to someone, but Combeferre made us all swear to keep laptops and cellphones away from you this week. I’m not going to be your enabler, and neither will Courfeyrac so…”

“He made you promise that?”

Grantaire laughed. Combeferre was always several steps ahead with Enjolras. Everyone knew he had a tendency to not relax wherever he was, and this was supposed to be a holiday and a wedding, and Combeferre had therefore confiscated all his technology at the first opportunity once they had settled in at the hotel; Enjolras had apparently not been hugely amused to return from his shower to find he couldn’t check in with any one of the twenty three separate causes he was involved with at the present. The others had all been informed in no uncertain terms that anyone found letting him use their stuff would be subject to Combeferre’s wrath, and nobody was stupid enough to take that risk.

“Of course,” He replied, “Honestly I thought you’d go ask everyone as soon as possible, you’re a lot less freaked out than I expected.” It had been quite funny to see him raging in the lobby when the receptionist refused to give him the key to the storage locker Combeferre had hired out to keep his technology in, but since then Grantaire had to admit he’d been a lot less nervy than he had anticipated.

“Yeah, well, there’s been a lot to do,” he said absently, looking around the room as if hoping Courfeyrac might just pop up out of the ground.

“That’s not what you’re here for then?”

He looked back at him, “Huh? No,” he said, “I had something… I wanted his… opinion on something,”

“Not something I could help you with?”

“No!” the answer came a bit too fast, and Grantaire felt yet another familiar pang of hurt at the word. Of course, he was of no use to Enjolras, stupid to even think so.

“Sorry, that wasn’t…” Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just something only Courfeyrac can help with,” which narrowed down the potential subject matter quite considerably really, so far in fact that Grantaire honestly couldn’t think of anything Enjolras would go to Courfeyrac for advice on, that he couldn’t go to _anyone_ else for. He watched Enjolras still standing in the centre of the room and realised he looked somewhat nervous. As a rule Enjolras was rarely outwardly nervous, and it was usually hard to tell because he put on what Grantaire had dubbed his ‘marble façade’, wherein he went very still, and his expression was fixed somewhere between determination and annoyance. However, well versed in most of Enjolras’ mannerisms as he was, Grantaire had long known that if he was particularly nervous the fingers of his left hand would tap very lightly against his thigh, and a muscle in his jaw would clench and unclench every few seconds.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, and Enjolras’ head jerked slightly to look at him and he laughed nervously, “Sorry, you look tense is all,” he added in explanation, and he watched as Enjolras made a visible effort to appear more relaxed; his fingers still tapped out an unknown rhythm against his leg. A few more seconds of uncomfortable silence followed, and really Grantaire should have known that earlier in the bar had been a fluke, never to be repeated; he was disappointed nevertheless.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” said Enjolras, breaking the silence suddenly and making Grantaire sit up straight in his chair.

“Oh?” he asked, “Which bit exactly?”

If he wasn’t very much mistaken, Enjolras was blushing very slightly when he spoke again. “About, how you can never know if something would work, unless you tell the person in question,” he glanced nervously at the door, and quite suddenly, several things fell into place in Grantaire’s mind, while several things fell to pieces in his chest; he felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, a clenching one in his throat, and he had to swallow carefully and take a sharp breath before speaking again.

“Uh huh?” was all he managed, and he fidgeted in his chair slightly. It was suddenly all very clear to him. Enjolras’ strange nervous behaviour, the blushing, thinking about telling a person you love them… something only Courfeyrac could give an opinion on. He couldn’t say he’d ever have seen it coming, and generally he prided himself on being an excellent observer; though he supposed he was rather blinkered when it came to Enjolras. Of course he had always known them to be close friends, but now that he thought about it, Enjolras had always been rather more tactile with Courfeyrac, backed down when he asked, valued his input more than most, and was less inclined to berating him; despite the fact that Courfeyrac created almost as many disruptions as Grantaire and Bahorel. Grantaire felt suddenly rather bad for being so flippant about seeing Courfeyrac with one of the bridesmaids.

“I just…” an Enjolras that was lost for words was a strange thing to witness, and it was this strange demonstration of nerves and of taking his walls down that made Grantaire force himself back together for his sake. He pushed himself out of his chair and tried to ignore Enjolras’ wince as he moved closer.

“Enjolras, do you have feelings for… someone?” he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud; he would wait for Enjolras to admit it to him himself.

“I…” Enjolras licked his lips, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment – a particular habit of his – before nodding lightly, and letting out a long breath, “For a while now,”

“Do you… do you mind if I ask who?” he wanted to hear the words from Enjolras’ mouth, and then it would be over, and he could do his best to help and then hopefully Enjolras would leave.

But Enjolras’ eyes went wide at the question. “It… doesn’t matter,” is the reply he gives, and all the tension has returned to his posture, “I thought I could tell them, but… things have been good recently, and it’s like you said, it might just mess things up,”

“And when did you start listening to my advice huh?” said Grantaire, throwing in a forced smile and reaching out to grip Enjolras’ shoulder lightly, “You never did before. You know me, I talk a load of crap most of the time,”

“That’s not true,” said Enjolras, suddenly fierce, taking Grantaire by surprise. It passed a second later, and he almost seemed to shrink in front of Grantaire’s eyes, gazing down at his shoes, “You were right, and, I can’t lose… them,”

“Hey!” Grantaire half shouted, bending his own head slightly to catch Enjolras’ eye, “You’re not going to lose anyone,” he said, softer now, and Enjolras finally met his gaze, though he didn’t speak and still looked unsure.

“Look,” said Grantaire, taking another small step towards him, “I’m assuming this, person, is a friend… and in that case they have to know how amazing you are,” Enjolras scoffed slightly at that, and it was a shock to see him so insecure. He always seemed so sure of himself, as though he didn’t care what anyone thought of him; Grantaire had always envied him that.

“You are,” he insisted, “You’re…” and he took a deep breath, knowing this was throwing a great deal of caution to the winds, “You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met Enjolras, and, whoever it is, they’d be crazy to leave you over something like this.”

“Really?” it was barely a whisper, and Grantaire felt a twinge in his heart that had nothing to do with his own heartbreak, if this was the last time he was ever close to Enjolras, ever able to convey to him just how much he mattered, well he would be happy for it.

“Are you kidding? Enjolras there’s nobody like you in this whole world, nobody. You’re smart and passionate and beautiful, sure, and people trust you, follow you, but that’s not everything. You’ve got this, indefinable quality, this _something_ that just completely sets you apart, that makes people truly believe in you; even a cynic like me. When you walk into a room, you light it up. You _shine_ Enjolras,” at some point his hand had slid from Enjolras’ shoulder to the base of his neck, but he didn’t remember doing it, taking stock of how close they were he realised suddenly that the distance was less than before, and he definitely didn’t remember moving, which could only mean that Enjolras had done so himself. Indeed they were so close if he turned his head their noses would bump together; he could feel Enjolras’ breath on his lips, could count his eyelashes. Enjolras’ eyes were trained on his mouth, as if he could see the words Grantaire was speaking coming from them, and then there were hands sliding over his shoulders, one mimicking Grantaire and resting at the base of his neck, the other coming up to cup his cheek, long fingers disappearing under black curls. For the second time something clicks into place in his mind, and he can’t even bring himself to feel stupid because more importantly everything has clicked back into place in his chest as well.

“Me?” he whispered hoarsely, he had to ask, had to because he hardly dared to believe it but he had to admit he was finding it hard to deny the evidence infront of him and, well, all around him in fact.

“Yes,” breathed Enjolras, “Who else?” and Grantaire thought that was a question best left unanswered for several reasons; Enjolras apparently thought so too as his eyes flickered closed and he moved again to close the remaining distance.

It was barely anything at first, soft and tentative, their noses did bump slightly awkwardly and it was dry and slow and their lips were both chapped and Grantaire was willing to place money on Enjolras having never done this before but his own experience had abandoned him anyway, so they were equal; it was perfect. When they both pulled back, he licked his lips on reflex and his eyes were drawn to where Enjolras was doing the same, lingering as always on pulling at his bottom lip. It had always been eye-catching when he did that, but this close it was practically indecent, and now that he was at liberty to do something about it he wasn’t going to waste the chance. His right arm, which until then had been hanging somewhat uselessly by his side curled around Enjolras’ hip, pulling him close as he kissed him again, opening his mouth just so, so as to take his lower lip between his own teeth, dragging lightly off before pressing another, more chaste, kiss to it as if in apology. It was that, and the delicious whining noise that Enjolras made in the back of his throat that seemed to break both their self control, and there was only maybe a centimetre between them when they both surged forward.

Exactly how they wound up with Enjolras pressed up against the wall by the door was lost in a whirl of teeth and tongues and grasping hands, but once they were there it all slowed again, kissing becoming languid, Enjolras hands sliding down his shoulders to grip at his shirt, and his own hands coming to rest at his hips.

It was as Grantaire moved half-reluctantly from Enjolras’ lips to kiss his neck that the door flew open and slammed hard against the catch before swinging back and – at least to judge by the cry of pain – hitting whoever was behind it, and they both jumped away from each other as if burned.

The door opened again, more carefully this time, and Courfeyrac’s voice was heard through it.

“Dude let me in, I have a girl out here,” and Grantaire was going to bloody murder him for this one day.

He glanced at Enjolras who shook his head, with an apologetic air, and mouthed ‘not yet,’ and he needn’t have been sorry about that, Grantaire was in complete agreement. This – whatever it was – was so new and had happened so suddenly that he was still contemplating the possibility that it wasn’t even real; perhaps he’d gone to bed and this was a dream, or else a really vivid hallucination, in which case his subconscious was to be congratulated on its attention to detail and choice of subject matter. However, if it was real, well, the last thing it needed was Courfeyrac’s rather heavy handed approach to congratulations; Combeferre was still very careful about even hinting at intimate details between himself and Eponine. Grantaire therefore cast around for an excuse to not open the door.

“Maybe I have one in here!” he called back, and if that wasn’t the stupidest lamest excuse for an excuse he didn’t know what was. Enjolras paused in straightening out his clothing to send him an incredulous look, he shrugged dramatically.

“Grantaire, firstly we both know you’re as gay as a fruit basket float on the fourth of July, so if you did have a girl in there it wouldn’t be quite the same thing, and secondly you totally don’t anyway because I saw you let Enjolras in ten minutes ago when I was getting ice from the machine down the hall,” and this idiot was the man he’d thought Enjolras was in love with? He shook his head slightly, despairing at his own stupidity and vowing to never _ever_ tell Enjolras of his mistake.

“Well we’re hanging out in here,” he said, and maybe that was also somewhat lame given that he and Enjolras had never ‘hung out’ before, but it was at least slightly more believable than him having brought a girl back to his room; just barely.

“Come over here,” called back Courfeyrac, and, slightly confused, Grantaire made his way over to the door, glad to be wearing his pyjama’s and not having to worry about them looking rumpled.

“What?” he asked Courfeyrac through the small gap that the catch on the door allowed.

“Listen man, can’t you go hang somewhere else?” hissed Courfeyrac, “I mean, I’m just saying, which one of us here actually has need of a bedroom right now?” and Grantaire was forced to concede that technically speaking, in the context he had himself created, that would be Courfeyrac and he sent a glance over to make sure Enjolras had managed to make himself presentable again – and indeed he looked more presentable now than he had when he’d turned up at the room in the first place – before taking the catch off the door and letting Courfeyrac in, followed closely by the same red head he’d been speaking to half an hour ago. He let Enjolras slip out of the room ahead of him before leaving with a muttered “Do enjoy yourselves,” that was meant to come off as malicious but which Courfeyrac received with a wide grin and a “Thanks we will,” and then Grantaire was shutting the door behind him.

Not for the first time, an awkward silence fell between himself and Enjolras. Unlike the many previous times however, this one was laced with something different, and not quite identifiable. Outside of the room, and the certainty of Enjolras' arms around his neck, his fingers in his hair and his lips on his... all of his usual cynicism and doubt slowly began to resurface, and a nagging voice at the back of his head taunted him with how unlikely it was that this was real, that it was ever meant to be more than a one time thing, that he had nothing to offer Enjolras, that he had been emotionally vulnerable and Grantaire had just been there, that was all. Had he taken advantage? He panicked glancing up at Enjolras, who was glaring at the door behind Grantaire with the sort of intensity he gave to speeches on the many, many wrongs of the government or to people who openly disagreed with him. He was angry. Of course he was, Grantaire kicked himself and he tore his gaze away before that anger could be turned back on him. There was a particularly ugly potted plant some way down the hotel corridor, and his eyes and mind were so intent on staying focused on it that it was only when he felt something pressing his fingers together that he looked down and realised Enjolras' hand was in his.

"Huh?" he managed, and damn if that wasn't the most eloquent thing he had ever said.

Enjolras was biting his lip again, and Grantaire was starting to think that he knew exactly what that did to him and he therefore did it on purpose but that didn't matter because if he was doing that then he probably wasn't mad, in fact he was smiling that stupid little smile again and he looked... mischievous? 

"I don't suppose Marius will be using the honeymoon suite," he said, which would probably have taken Grantaire more by surprise, but he was still reeling from the discovery that apparrently Enjolras was actually glaring at the door and not just channelling his rage.

"You... you're not angry at me?"

"Why would I be angry at _you_?"

He shook his head, "No reason," if they survived past this one night there would be plently of time to talk about Grantaire's many, many difficulties processing the reality of their situation - time that would inevitably be spent with both exasperrating the other to the point of screaming - but right now Grantaire had caught up with Enjolras' suggestion, and he was more concerned with what that might entail. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Enjolras coughed lightly, and Grantaire took a mental picture - not his first, nor his last of the night - of the very slight blush dusting pale cheeks as he said, "I was pointing out that it's unlikely that Marius will be using the room booked for the married couple, given that half the couple is currently awol," 

"Mmm, that's probably true," said Grantaire, allowing himself to smile, "It would sure be a shame for that room to go to waste huh?"

"It might feel left out,"

"We wouldn't want that, all the other honeymoon suites might call it names,"

"Perhaps we could do something about that?"

Without another word - without even contemplating how weird it was that this exchange, with Enjolras of all people, didn't feel weird - Grantaire tugged on the hand in his and led the way towards the elevator.

**Author's Note:**

> I can only apologise to everyone for the existence of this fic.  
> I can also only apologise because I suck at writing intimacy, you can't even imagine how much procrastinating went on for like a one paragraph kiss. Oh my God.


End file.
